The Wacky Misadventures of Betty and Claire
by no2benry
Summary: What if Daniel asked Betty to babysit Claire in "A Thousand Words by Friday"? Read and find out... DxB, what else?
1. Chapter 1: Daniel's Late Night Musings

**Obligatory Disclaimer so I don't get sued: I don't own "Ugly Betty" or any of the characters and/or brand names mentioned, sadly. I just play around with them when I'm feeling bored. **

**A/N: After seeing "A Thousand Words by Friday," I thought to myself "What if Daniel asked Betty to get Claire off his back?" And there you have it, the inspiration for this fanfic. Behold, the wacky misadventures of Betty and Claire.**

Daniel lay awake and let his eyes drift over Renee's luscious form.

No, it wasn't love. Daniel Meade had only loved two women, aside from his mother and his sister, of course: Sophia Reyes and Betty Suarez. The former had a foundation rooted in lust, the latter had a foundation rooted in a friendship so deep the word "friendship" didn't do it justice.

In fact, the latter was where his mind drifted before, after, and in-between every encounter with every pretty body he came in contact with lately.

Sure, Renee was gorgeous and sassy and, frankly, kind of like Sophia. In addition to her other, um, assets, she was a bunny in the sack and, as an added bonus, she was Wilhelmina Slater's sister. Sure, that had been an awkward moment seeing Wili naked in the shower, but at least he'd gotten the satisfaction of honestly telling her she needed to get a refund for her Brazilian butt lift.

The situation, which had freaked him out at first, was, upon closer inspection, completely and utterly juicy. At least he and Renee had one thing in common—each was using the other for 1) sex and 2) to royally piss off Wili.

Daniel rolled over and put his arms behind his head, the traditional post-coital position of the self-satisfied male, and wondered what Betty was up to.

He'd asked, no, _begged_ her to take his mother somewhere, _anywhere_ that didn't involve her rifling through his porny magazines and tut-tut-ing over the "half-naked hoochie mural" painted on the wall of his apartment.

What shenanigans could Claire possibly get up to with Betty in tow? Daniel, for his part, could barely bring himself to swear when he was around his best friend, much less do anything wacky or criminal. _And it also keeps Betty and Henry from having time to mack... four months, six days, twenty minutes and thirty seconds left, Grubstank, till I give you a granola bar, a pat on the back, and toss you on the next plane to Phoenix or wherever the hell you'll eek out the rest of your dorky existence FAR AWAY from my girl…_

Daniel had long since stopped giving himself a smack on the forehead in an attempt to shake thoughts like these loose. After all, if he did it every time he started to have possessive thoughts about Betty, his head would be black and blue. So what he did instead was have sex. Lots of it.

He was about to reach over and shake Renee awake for Round Five when his cell started vibrating on the nightstand next to him. _Betty…_

Not even bothering to wrap a sheet around his naked form, he padded into the bathroom to avoid waking Renee. It was two a.m., so Daniel was already worried about why she'd be calling him this late, but when he heard her precious, quivery little voice he broke out into a cold sweat.

"Daniel?" she breathed unsteadily.

Daniel's mind raced, frantic and wild, over all the things that could've happened to her. He'd dropped off his mom and left her with Betty at the Beer Hole—maybe someone slipped something in her drink, maybe she was grabbed and assaulted outside, maybe she'd ventured back into the Bear Hole next door to drum up an audience for Henry's band and all of the above occured, _maybe, maybe, maybe_…God, this must be what it felt like to be an older brother with a sweet, vulnerable baby sister. _Or said sweet, vulnerable girl's boyfriend…_

"Betty, what's wrong? Is Mom alright? Are you?" _Who do I need to kill? If you say "Henry", I'll give you a raise…_

"Well, I mean, physically, yeah, we're okay but Daniel, I have to tell you something. And you have to promise not to freak and start yelling."

"Alright, I feel super-comforted now. But I won't yell, just don't make me play twenty questions, here." Still worried but reassured that at least she wasn't physically hurt, he was prepared to feel the urge to put her over his knee and spank her, throttle her, and/or kiss her senseless, urges that he felt so often with this girl and none of which seemed unpleasant to him most times.

"Daniel, Mrs. Meade and I are at the New York Police Department. We need you to come post bail."

**What do you think? More? Or not? Either way, I live and breathe reviews. I'm just that needy. :D**


	2. Chapter 2: Just Call Me 'ButtMonkey'

**A/N: Well, I guess the beginning of this story went over well! I can't really decide whether Daniel/Renee is kind of cute or is just squicky. Oh, well, this is a D/B fic anyway. I'm just trying to decide if/how much of a villain to make Renee. Thanks for the reviews/encouragement! Hope you like…**

"My butt hurts." Betty shifted uncomfortably, awkwardly, on the hard, cold bench, which was secured to the wall by two ominous-looking chains.

"Well, aren't those the three magic words in here? Pipe down, dear." Claire Meade was, as usual, cool as a cucumber, as if she were presiding over socialites at a garden party instead of a bevy of Big Bertha-types in the NYPD Drunk Tank.

She was obviously still buzzed, although she possessed the characteristic the rest of the Meades did—she didn't become sloppy when drunk but acquired a rather calm, biting, calculating brand of insanity, as if nothing in the world had the ability to surprise her or any of them anymore.

Maybe it was true, Betty mused around her migraine. At any rate, it was keeping the other captives at bay, thus slimming the chances of either of them becoming a butt-monkey tonight.

"Daniel's going to murder us," Betty moaned. "I'm pretty sure he was getting lucky with…what's-her-name…Regina?...oh, who cares…when I called."

Claire gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "I think you're safe, at least. You can do no wrong in my son's eyes, you know that. You're quite the Goddess Divine in his life. Although, he might yell. He has become a yeller, I keep telling him…"

Claire suddenly eyed Betty with deceptively casual interest. "How do you find this new chippie of Daniel's? Is she worth learning her real name?"

Betty decided that it was Daniel who should probably break the news to his mother that he was boinking Wilhelmina's sister, although for all she knew, Claire might find it more amusing than anything.

"I only saw her from a distance," Betty could at least say truthfully, from where her head was cradled in her hands. "I've never really met her, but Daniel seems to be taken with her. More so than the women he usually…um…dates."

Claire's face was so kind, and Betty so confused, that she felt safe to open up, at least a little. Anything to help her work through, breathe through the queer ache in her chest, the odd flush that crept into her cheeks, whenever she allowed herself to think that Daniel might really be serious this time.

"It was kind of weird, actually," Betty continued. "He showed up at my house around midnight, spun about Renee and asking for my advice." Betty fervently hoped Claire would assume that Daniel was spun about his fear of commitment, and not be clued in to the real reason Daniel was so wary of entering into the relationship. "I told him to go for it if he really liked her. I mean, I didn't really know what to say. And then he gets the funniest look on his face, like he'd expected me to talk him out of it or something, almost like he _wanted_ me to."

_Gauging her reaction_, Claire reflected. _All in all, a typical Daniel maneuver. That sneaky boy of mine. He really has got it bad._

Both jumped at the reverberating slam of the cell door being thrown back, the obnoxious jangle of the officer's keys. And the deep, rumble-y, boy, Daniel-must-be-pissed voice emanating from the tall, gorgeous man with the spiky hair (tousled from bed instead of gel for once) and the stormy blue eyes.

"Alright, move your asses. _Now_." Daniel wasn't yelling, actually, which was a hell of a lot creepier than if he'd really unloaded on them both.

Smelling impending Daniel-judgment a few feet away, Betty was immediately defensive. "Well, it's about time you got here!" she hissed. "I was about to become someone's bitch!"

"Sweetheart, you were about to become _my_ bitch," Claire hiccoughed mildly as she swept regally out of the cell.

"Oh, cram it, Mother. The town car's waiting outside." Daniel glowered after the Meade matriarch as she blew a kiss at the charmed guard on the way out, blonde hair disheveled.

Betty moved to exit the cell but found her way blocked by a beautiful muscular arm. She sighed. "Daniel, just take it out of my paycheck for the next five decades if you want to, but can you maybe wait till Monday morning to blast me? I'm tired and drunk and…sad."

To her immense surprise, after a beat in which she felt hotly scrutinized by cerulean blue perfection, she found herself being pulled into a tight embrace.

"Okay, first of all, yes, I'm pissed. Second of all, please, God, tell me you're alright. And third, tell me why you're sad, because I have a feeling that that's going to be a factor in why you landed in the pokey. Well, that and my mother."

He lifted her chin with a strong, firm forefinger and forced her damp, melting chocolate eyes to meet his own. At what he saw there, he wasn't even shocked to feel the beginnings on moisture in his own.

Betty tiredly counted off the points on her fingers. "I know you're pissed. I'm okay, relatively speaking. And I'm sad because…"

"Because…"

"Henry and Gio are back in the bar competing for girls' numbers. It's a long story. They don't even know I'm here. I don't want them to know. Henry…he didn't even notice when your mom and I left…" Betty could no longer meet Daniel's gaze. She hadn't lied. Henry's disregard of her feelings had hurt her. She prayed Daniel would notice her blush at what tidbit she was leaving out. Luckily, it was dim light.

Daniel was weighing the option of adding Gio and his mother to his hit list, right below Henry.

But first he needed details.

"We get my mother relatively non-toxic again, drop her off right in the middle of Alexis's Tranny's Anonymous meeting, and we'll go back to my apartment. And you will spill." Daniel gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head.

"What about Renee? I'm sorry, by the way, if you two were in the middle of a…thingie."

Daniel had forgotten about his latest playmate, truth be told, in the sheer adorableness of Betty not ever being able to say any word that remotely alluded to sex. "No, not really. All 'thingie' action had stopped for the evening. And she's a big girl. Not clingy, which is how I like 'em."

Betty cheekily replied, "I thought if they were alive and had the right number of boobs that that's how you like 'em. You've upped your standards, Daniel Meade."

Daniel smirked and rolled his eyes. He grabbed her hand. "Ready, Sundance?"

Betty grinned despite herself.

"Always, Butch."

**Review, please:-D**


	3. Chapter 3: The Instigator

**A/N: (Squeals and throws self onto reviewers for spontaneous hugs, thereby scaring everyone)--THANK YOU In this installment, we have sexual tension, mug shots, sexy black bathrobes, and the gist of why, exactly, Betty and Claire went for a ride in the paddy-wagon. **

Betty stood under the needles of hot spray in Daniel's shower, trying to absolutely NOT think about its usual occupant.

_Amanda was right about this showerhead, though…_

Betty stepped out of the shower reluctantly and looked around blankly for her clothes. Realizing she forgot to take any into the bathroom, she cast about for something that wouldn't make her lose her best friend tonight.

_A towel doesn't exactly provide coverage. Ahhh, a bathrobe. Not gonna smell it, not gonna smell it, ooooh it smells like Daniel…._

She slipped it on. Hey, it was either that or give her boss and best friend a free strip tease, and she didn't think he would mind too much. About her wearing his robe, that is. After all, she tried not to think about the many women whom he barely knew that had probably been wrapped in this thing at some point or another. _If he used their toothbrushes…_

Betty emerged from the bathroom to be greeted with the sound of Daniel's laughter. She narrowed her eyes and shuffled over to see what he found to be such a gas.

In the midst of the monitors warm glow was her mug shot, courtesy of the NYPD's website. Minimized in the corner was Claire's, and he kept bringing up one, then alternating to the other, and snorting as he did so.

Daniel glanced over his shoulder, and Betty was too distracted by his eyes subtly running over her form to be annoyed at his marked lack of sheepishness.

He took a deep breath. "So, you and Mom are really giving Nick Nolte a run for his money over here. I can't decide which of you two to make my new desktop."

Betty smacked him on the back of the head before leaning over his shoulder. In her mug shot she looked, as Hilda would put it, tore up from the floor up. Or, at least, from the neck up.

Daniel was extremely distracted. His black robe on Betty was so damn…erotic. And adorable; the robe that came mid-calf on him was practically dragging the floor on Betty. And the fact that it was adorable made it more erotic and it was all a vicious, vicious, sexy, confusing cycle that was making his head spin.

He was sure she couldn't be aware of the baby-soft cleavage she was putting on eye-level display as she bent. Daniel, being only a man, after all, was trying to look at it out of the corner of his eye. He finally settled for pretending to glance back at his bedside clock, but was in actuality smelling his shampoo on her semi-damp hair.

Still, all the shampoo in the world couldn't mask the unmistakable Betty-smell that he hoped was currently permeating his robe. Hoped their two unique body-musks were mingling. Something primal in him was taking great possessive pleasure in the fact that she was wearing his robe that, while still clean, hadn't been washed free of his own scent.

_Suck that, Henry. Gio. Bow Wow. Whoever the hell was macking on his Betty this week…_

Needing a distraction so he wouldn't maul the center of his universe, Daniel figured now was as good a time as any to pry the sordid tale from Betty.

"Was Mom, as I suspect, the instigator?"

Betty laughed humorlessly. "Well, yes and no…"

**Flashback**

Betty sat dejectedly at the bar, watching through a drunken haze as Henry told a girl that when the strobe lights didn't shine directly on her, she was really kind of pretty.

Gio, for his part, was informing some chick that she had a smokin' body—it was just too bad about her face.

Betty had expected this behavior from Gio, was counting on it, in fact, for her experiment for her Phil Roth _"Tap That!"_ book review, but then Henry had to go and assert himself tonight of all nights, for the first time in his Egg-Salad-y existence.

Betty was too drunk to be disturbed that she had started mentally referring to him as "Egg Salad" as well. _Shut up, Mental!Gio!_

She caught a whiff of Chanel and suddenly Claire Meade was beside her. "Gin and tonic, please." Betty may have been blitzed, but not so blitzed that this didn't ping on her radar as totally effed up.

Daniel's alcoholic mother. At the Beer Hole. Ordering gin and tonic.

Claire turned and looked at Betty in her direct way. "Daniel says to baby-sit me. Apparently me finding his penis pump in the top drawer of his dresser was the straw that broke the philanderer's back. Dear, sweet boy."

She sighed at Betty's pointed stare at her alcoholic beverage.

"My son just dropped me off at a place called the "Beer Hole" with nothing more than instructions to find you and to not go in the place next door, so apparently my continuing sobriety isn't number one on his list of concerns. He barely even slowed down the car before he pushed me out, so I'm sure he's got one of his groupies shacked up somewhere that he's dying to get back to. I'm having a damn drink, Betty."

"Her name's…Rihanna. Something like that." Claire could tell Betty had stopped listening mid-tirade; Claire followed her unsteady gaze to where the two men were competing for phone numbers and practically were practically dry-humping anything that moved.

Claire, who was as bemused as always when it came to Betty's love life, asked "Isn't that your little accountant with his hand creeping up that girl's skirt?"

Betty nodded sadly. "It's a long story; Cliff's Notes version: I thought Henry had evolved to a higher state of being, but there he is beating his chest and picking his lice with the rest of the knuckle-dragging Neanderthals." Betty gave a hiccough. "He's leaving in four months, did you (burp) know that? Did you?"

Claire figured she'd better, so she nodded.

"And it looks like I'm already nonexistent to him…obsolete." Claire caught Betty's head before it hit the bar top.

"I know how it feels to be obsolete," Claire mused. "My own children tried to lob me at each other and then, when that didn't work, they lobbed me at you." She looked around distastefully. "So this is what my ice flow shall look like…" she waxed poetic.

Betty gave her a confused look. Claire huffed, "When Eskimos want to get rid of their elders they put them on an ice flow and give it a push. I've explained the analogy twice already, and nothing. Anthropology really isn't you people's forte, is it?"

"Neither, appar…app…apparennly is keeping a boyfriend," came Betty's slur.

Claire patted Betty on the back and turned back around, swirling her drink around in her glass. "Well, aren't we the pair of miserable bitches?"

Seeing that this particular spot, however moderately less skanky than she expected, was nevertheless doing little to help the psyche of the girl who had managed to light the fuse under her motherly instinct at the first glance, Claire wrapped her long elegant fingers around Betty's elbow.

"What do you say we venture next door for a bit? I hear there's this great place called the 'Bear Hole'…."

Betty, tossing a finally angst-y glance in the direction of her two Judases, figured common sense was overrated, hauled herself awkwardly off the barstool. Claire was already heading for the door.

**Sorry I haven't updated in a while, but I hope you enjoyed this! If you did or if you didn't, please let me know!**


	4. Chapter 4: That Bastard Mr Ed

**A/N: How do I love my reviewers? Let me count the ways…or I could just give everyone a big scary hug :D I inserted some juicy D/B goodness into this chapter for my own obsessive needs. The show's hiatus is killing me.**

"Soooo…the Bear Hole. The place I specifically instructed you never to go."

Daniel was irritating the crap out of Betty.

She was trying to spit out her side of the story but was growing more and more defensive with every 'tude-laden comment of his. This was one of the many aspects of her best friend that made her want to strangle him and giggle like a ditzy, addled little schoolgirl at the same time. He was sitting in his customary pose that he reserved for when he was taking the moral high ground: arms crossed, head tilted back, eyes deceptively calm and heavy-lidded and glued to her.

Betty called it his "judge-y pose." And it usually accompanied a display of possessive, petty behavior from Daniel that would've only been appropriate from her father or boyfriend.

Betty had noted the use of this pose more frequently the longer she knew him. She already knew he was scarily protective of the few he loved, and she and Claire ranked the highest on that list. Betty also knew that most women would commit grisly murder to be the one that he clung to the tightest. But the fact remained that, as flattering as her Daniel-bestowed title of His Gal Friday was, it had been the cause of many swift, nasty arguments of late.

Case in point: her weekend trip to Tucson with Henry.

**Flashback**

The concept was simple enough, although one would've thought it was brain surgery if one saw the look of complete and utter mystification on Daniel's face as Betty tried to explain to him for the umpteenth time why she needed to be there for Charlie's ultra-sound. Betty suspected that it was one of those times he was being purposely dense, hoping that the more she explained something out loud to him, the more foolish it would start to sound to her. It was working, although she'd continued to maintain that it was completely reasonable to want to offer moral support to Henry while awkwardly observing the kicking child being born of the girl he'd knocked up while thinking about her.

But anyway.

There he'd sat, arms crossed, head tilted back, eyes deceptively calm and heavy-lidded and glued to her. The judge-y pose.

Betty offered up a positive. "Oh, and you know how you're always harping that I need to leave my comfort zone? Henry's father owns a ranch in Tucson. Henry offered to teach me how to ride the horses. Not something I'd ever thought I'd do, but…."

The judge-y pose had been abandoned, and in an instant he was towering over her. "I don't want you in there," he said. The words were low and yet sharp enough to cut steel.

Betty'd blinked. "Uhhh…in there where?"

Daniel threw up his hands and began Agitated!Daniel's habit of pacing back and forth. "In the stall, on top of a big-ass horse, that's where! Jesus, is Henry insane?! You could be thrown, fall and break your neck…" Daniel stopped pacing and leaned against his desk, head bent. The thought of his Betty lying bloody and broken on the ground was enough to stagger him, enough to make him nauseous. Unlike Alexis, he had a severe distrust of any animal larger than a dog.

Betty, lips pursed and one eyebrow raised, glared at him for a long moment. "I'll see you Monday, Daniel," she said quietly. She didn't seem mad, entirely, just contemplative. She kissed him on the cheek, threw her bag over her shoulder, and was gone.

Daniel headed to Accounting, where Henry was making his own last-minute preparations. He tried to play it off like he didn't jump when Daniel leaned over his shoulder. Daniel's voice was almost amiable, which made the note of menace in it all the more deafening.

"If I find a single scratch on her when she gets back, me firing you will be the least of your worries, I swear to God." Henry turned to look at him fully but found Daniel had once again disappeared.

**End flashback**

Betty was still trying to say something, anything that would keep Daniel from flipping out, because if he'd had a hernia over her feeding sugar cubes to Mr. Ed, he'd have a stroke after he heard this. "I was drunk, okay? And it was your mom's idea," she tacked on as a preemptive strike.

Daniel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Oh, I have no doubt. Please, Ms. Suarez, continue."

"If it's any consolation, neither of us had a good time in the Bear Hole."

Well, that wasn't entirely true.

**Flashback**

As soon as she staggered into the door, Betty had the feeling that she would catch syphilis from breathing the rancid air and crabs from sitting on the barstool. The bar itself had acquired its own thick layer of bacteria.

But, God, did they have beer.

And karaoke.

Beer after karaoke was an infinitely better idea than beer before karaoke, but it was a little late for that now. At any rate, the biker with the navel piercing and the ass antlers was done singing, and Claire was dragging her onstage for a charming rendition of "Stroke Me."

In hindsight, maybe singing sexually provocative lyrics to a room full of toasted parole violators with your boss's mother wasn't such a good idea.

And Betty knew for a fact that taking her top off wasn't the brightest move to have made. Although Betty knew that if she had anything going for her in the looks department, it was her rack, it might not have been the place to flaunt it.

And before Betty or Claire knew what hit them, all hell had broken loose at Ye Old Bear Hole.

**Drop me a line or two, if you're so inclined. Oh, who am I kidding? Pleeease review, I'm begging you! **


	5. Chapter 5: BareBreasted at a Bear Hole

**A/N: When I read my reviews, I giggled, ran around my chair, sat down, and giggled some more! Thank you all, with love and hugs all around! **

**P.S.: Verity Kindle, thanks for the title :-D**

Daniel was turning purple. And he'd forgotten how to breathe.

His Betty. Stripping off her top. In front of a room full of ex-cons.

His Betty, the innocent girl who dressed up in a butterfly costume for Halloween; his Betty, who kept a pink and green bunny on her desk and who loved glitter and Broadway musicals. His Betty, with whom it'd become a running joke to offer to get her drunk, just to see her incredulous (adorable) facial expressions.

His Betty, who, he was sure, looked absolutely edible without her shirt on.

His mother could take care of herself, of that he was certain. No, he wasn't exactly whistling zippity doo-da out his butt at the notion of Claire hobnobbing with the New York branch of the Hell's Angels, but, hell, she'd been there before. But Betty, whom he barely let associate with Becks, in the middle of that rowdy lot? It made his blood run cold.

She was sitting beside him now, spilling her guts, and, damn it, looking kind of proud of herself. She appeared so small and cuddly (supple and nubile), and his bathrobe had slipped down, exposing soft and bitable shoulder and who the hell was Renee, again?

Betty, realizing she was getting to the "best" part, felt it necessary to butter her best friend up a little, kind of a preemptive strike, if you will. She scooted even closer, to where their hips were touching, put on her best "lost and repentant little girl" expression, rested her head on his shoulder (the very picture of delicate helpless female exhaustion), and twined her arm through his, interlocking their fingers.

Daniel knew exactly what she was doing. Betty only resorted to feminine wiles, which she swore up and down she didn't possess, when she was about to tell him something totally cringe-worthy. It was working tonight. Hell, it always worked. With that mouth in a soft, pouty line and those Bambi-brown eyes gone all wide and misty, she could tell him she'd blown up the Meade Publications building and he'd still give her a raise and a hug and a cookie and baby ducks and whatever she wanted.

Daniel ducked his head to meet her eyes. "Get to the point," he said huskily. Might at least give the pretense of sternness. Which was all shot to hell once he kissed her lightly on the forehead, to the purpose of obliterating whatever sternness he'd managed to just convey.

Betty squirmed, pleased, for a second, but then grew serious. "Hold on to your butt, Mr. Meade," she said quietly. Pausing, Betty peered worriedly at him for a second. "Daniel…breathe in, breathe out, in, out…we good? Okay. So, I kinda sorta maybe took off certain garments, and then…"

**Flashback**

Betty had let her girls out for a breather, and now she was facing the consequences. The place erupted in applause louder than Woodstock and then Claire, feeling left out, followed suit.

"Although, it's really not fair," she commented as she slapped away the hand of what looked like an extra out of a Cohen brothers movie, "Even in my prime, my fun-bags couldn't compare to yours."

Betty, for one, felt liberated. Here she was, at a forbidden place (by Daniel, no less), doing a forbidden thing (well, Daniel never strictly forbade her to take her top off, so she was blameless there). Besides, if he killed her, he'd have to also kill his mother, who was the drink-pourer and the let's-go-to-the-biker-joint brain trust.

Betty stage-dived into the crowd, much to their delight. And much to her regret when, even through her drunk-on, she found she didn't enjoy being groped a hundred ways to

Sunday. She felt herself being pulled down into the crowd, being suffocated, and man-handled. What she really wanted, in that moment when her life flashed before her eyes, wasn't Henry—it was Daniel.

Her Daniel, her best friend, her confidante, her rock, her voice of reason as much as she was his. He was her one, her person, her guy. She could think strangely logically about things in that moment. _Am I in love with him? Well, it doesn't matter now because, Oh my God, I'll never see him again… _

And then, suddenly, she hit the floor with a thud. _Ewww, I really hope that's chewing_ _gum…_ "Well, isn't this a very _Thelma and Louise_ moment we're about to have here?" Claire asked, one Prada heel on the throat of one of the Thunder-domers. At her side were Marc and Amanda.

In her hand was a tiny taser, about the size of a candy bar, but if the convulsing biker was any indication, it packed a wallop like a Mack truck. Judging by the looks on the faces of the other Mr. McFeelys in the crowd, they were having their own "Don't tase me, bro!" moments that they couldn't overcome, not even for the curvy girl with the rack to scream for.

"Hey!" Marc yelled, ducking behind Claire. "Nobody messes with my Little Chimichanga but me!" Amanda elbowed him in the ribs. "And Amanda…and maybe Wilhelmina, because we're all scared of her! But definitely none of you miscreants!"

From her place on the floor, Betty asked, "What're you guys doing here?"

"We were looking for a place called the "'Beer Hole.'" Amanda looked around and wrinkled her expensive little nose. "Classy!"

"This is the "'Bear Hole,'" Betty groaned. She nodded to the grungy patrons. "And those guys are a different kind of hole." Noticing Amanda's vaguely proud look at her dishabille, Betty said, "Don't ask."

"Oh, sweetie, we've all been there," Marc said, whipping out his camera phone and taking a picture. He grabbed Amanda and pulled her out the door, eyeing the butt of one of the younger bikers as he left.

Betty stood up with the aid of Claire, who was hovering like a tipsy mother hen. Claire was now feeling uneasy. Yes, she'd saved the girl who'd become a surrogate daughter to her, but she'd also prodded her into this mess. Then there was the Daniel Issue. Her son had more than a passing fondness for the Betty, that was obvious, and he often seemed to have some kind of innate sense of when she was in danger. Claire was more than a little surprised that he hadn't come charging in here like a mother grizzly, leaving a trail of bloody carcasses in his wake. The fact that he hadn't probably meant he was with Renee, and too sex-addled to notice.

**Wili's place…**

"Why are you stopping?" Renee panted, twining her fingers through Daniel's spiky brown locks.

Daniel had an uneasy feeling in his gut. "Betty…"

"Excuse the hell out of me?"

"I have to make a call," he said.

"Daniel, leave the girl alone, let her have some fun. I'm sure she's fine, she just needs to get you off her back for a night…" she pulled him back down, "and onto mine…"

_But she's sweet and innocent, and for a girl that smart, she sure is naïve sometimes. Of course I have to protect her…_

**Back at the "Bear Hole"…**

Betty, needing desperately to find Daniel and hear his "What the HELL were you THINKING?!" even as he held her, grabbed Claire's hand. "Come on, Mrs. Meade, let's go…"

"Um, Betty, your blouse is still on the…"

"I have to go!" Betty pointed a little finger determinedly towards the door and pulled onwards where in the street, they met a cop, who arrested them both for public drunkenness, public nudity, and God knows what else.

**End Flashback**

**Okay, so what did you think? I decided not to throw in many details about their arrest because the fic is mostly juicy D/B from here on out. And Marc and Mandy's appearance in this chapter will definitely make waves in the next...ooooh, intrigue...**


	6. Chapter 6: Living for Two

**A/N: To my reviewers, my crew, a big resounding "THANKS." That echoed, didn't it? Okay, so this is possibly the final chapter. I know, I know, but dry your tears, LOL. I'm trying to finish up my existing WIPs with the goal of starting new ones. And believe you me, I have ideas. And they all revolve around Henry/Betty. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I kid, I kid. Ahem.**

It was Henry's fault, Daniel had decided. Gio's somewhat, but mostly Henry's, who had been acting the nerdy little douche tonight, which made Betty get drunk, which made her susceptible to his mother's crazy-ass suggestion, which made her strip down in front of randy bikers, one-third of which were probably serial rapists. It all made perfect sense to Daniel. Henry would be systematically tortured. Gio would only get the cement shoes.

"Betty." Daniel had broken the silence that had stretched on for a full ten minutes. Civilizations had risen and fallen, Betty felt, in the span of no noise.

"Yes, Daniel?"

"Um…come over here for a second. Please." He sat with his hands calmly folded over his chiseled stomach.

"Why?"

"Because I'm your boss and I said so, that's why."

Betty gave him the eyeball equivalent of flipping him off that she always gave him when he tried to pull rank around her, but she shuffled over to stand about three feet away.

Daniel sighed and crooked a finger. "All the way…that's my girl…come on…cooome on…" Fast as lightning, he reached out and grabbed her, pulling her down into his lap amid her squeals of protest.

"Daniel, what the…?"

"YOU'RE asking ME, what the hell?! Let me tell you something…," he yelled as he tickled her. "If you EVER do something that fucking stupid again… no, scratch that, you WON'T do something that fucking RETARDED again because I'm going to chain you to me and only let you go to get me coffee!"

Betty was laughing and scared at the same time. "Daniel…ooof…I'm going to pee on your lap…HAAAAA!..."

"Shhh," Daniel warned, finally starting to grin himself. "My neighbors will think I'm molesting you."

"You are." Betty would never admit in a million years how adorable she found it when he deflected blame off of himself in stupid-ass ways only a spoiled rich boy could devise.

"Yeah, but they'll think you're not enjoying it." Daniel finally stopped his assault and leered wickedly at her.

"I'm n….I have asthma!" Betty finished lamely. She cuddled up on his lap…hey, as long as he had her in his iron grip, she might as well get comfortable…and rested her head on his shoulder, wiping away tears of mirth. During their tussle, the robe had slipped down over her shoulder to reveal a patch of white gauze, evidence of choice bits that she had left out of her story.

Like the fact that, between the "Bear Hole" and the "Beer Hole," there was a tattoo parlor of the highest reputation. Hers said simply "Daniel" and Claire's said "Bradford lives 4-eva." Daniel didn't need to know either of those facts.

The pad of his thumb wiped away a stray tear and remained to gently stroke her cheek as he hugged her to him. He brought his face down to rest his forehead against hers.

"I'm sorry, Daniel," she said simply.

Daniel sighed. How could he explain that when she'd made her craptastic decision tonight, she'd taken his life into her hands as well her own?

He'd always sucked with words, so he took her hand and put it against his heart. "Feel that?"

Betty smiled slightly. "Sounds like a Blue Man Group concert in there."

"Well, it wouldn't be sounding like anything if something had happened to you tonight."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "I can't lose you, Betty. And if that means I have to yell at you, tickle you, chain you to me, or hire a team of full-time bodyguards to carry you around in a basket, that's what I'll do."

Their eyes remained locked until the ringing of Daniel's cell ("Baby Got Back," as secretly programmed by Betty) broke the silence.

Daniel reached over and answered it. "Daniel Meade."

"Hey, Daniel, check it out." Amanda's voice was tinny on the other end. Her voice lowered an octave, and, although it was still light in tone, it had lost a great deal of its teasing edge. "Tell Betty to be more careful…give her hell, Daniel." She hung up.

On the phone's screen was something he'd never seen before: topless Betty. And, oh, boy, he'd have to give Amanda a promotion and God's-hands-cradling-butt-receptionist chair, and a century's worth of free clothes for giving him this unique experience, this unique gift of _woooohoooo!_

All the skinny models he'd ever slept with paled in comparison to what he now beheld—it was like putting Debra Messing next to Dolly Parton. Betty was all tousled perfection, like some luscious, curvy, flushed wood nymph. _Daniel like._

Betty sighed. From the look of blissful delight on his face, she could only assume some supermodel had sent him a picture of her privates. She hooked a finger into the waistband of his jeans and gave him a tug to snap him out of it.

"So…" he said, eyeing a curious yet sleepy Betty out of the corner of his eye, "I see that it was chilly in the old "Bear Hole" this evening."

Now it was Betty's turn to lunge; she plucked the phone out of his hands and deleted the picture. Daniel didn't care. The image was forever burned on to his brain.

"Great. And here I was, proud that I was only girl at Mode you hadn't seen undressed."

Daniel smiled in that beautiful, charming, so-obviously-playboy-that-you-hate-yourself-for-falling-for-it way.

"Time to join the club, Betty. Time to join the club."

The phone went upside his head.

**So, that's all folks. Reviews are like Skittles—they are very much craved by me, so feel free to leave a trail. They lead to squeeeees.**


	7. Chapter 7: Epilogue

**A/N: Some of my fabulous reviewers requested another chapter and I'm inclined to agree that it didn't feel finished. This takes place two weeks after the last chapter. So, ever your humble slave, I bring you the epilogue—second verse, same as the first, a little bit louder and a whole lot more ambiguous.**

_Two weeks later, on a hot spring day…cue porny music…_

Betty lay on her stomach, shiny with sunscreen, in a hot pink spaghetti-strap tank top; she was basking in the intensely warm glow of spring. Her eyes closed, she murmured, "Hilda, pass me another beer."

"Agh. Too sleepy." Hilda was lying in the same position.

"Uggggh…." Betty replied, her cheek sporting stripes from the lawn chair.

Daniel leaned against the gate and observed a minute. Okay, stared. Ogled. Perved around. He smiled indulgently at his girl's attire and marveled at the difference between the two sisters; even in the heat, Betty wore modest jeans and a cute little top that was pretty damn risqué for her. Risqué in that skin was showing. Hilda, by contrast, was wearing a skimpy bikini, the thong not even pretending to cover anything up. 

Careful not to a) get mistakenly shot by Ignacio or b) make a noise, he slipped up between the two catnapping women. He reached into the cooler for a sweating, icy bottle of beer and crouched down by Betty. He was about to tempt Death herself by swiftly rolling it down her bare skin, when he stopped. Looked. Saw his name tattooed in half-inch tall, gothic-style letters on her shoulder. 

A heat rose within Daniel that had nothing to do with global warming. _She has __**my**__ name tattooed on her…_ A strange, primal, fevered possessiveness unfurled inside. Also, a satisfaction—she must not be getting too naked with Henry at the risk of him seeing Daniel's tag on his girlfriend. His _temporary_ girlfriend.

Daniel had to tease her. Now. Had to see that delicious plump pout trying to suppress a grin, had to see those sweet brown eyes sparkle, those cheeks flush with embarrassment and mirth. He trailed the cold neck of the bottle down her spine and she sat bolt upright with a shriek, rolling over and ready to go all Queens Princess on someone's ass.

She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and saw Daniel's tall form towering over her like an impartial, deceptively solemn angel. Betty didn't want to think too much about why she instinctively arched her back so he could get the full benefit of her figure, despite her annoyance.

The neighbors probably saw a sibling-like, teasing interaction between two best friends. But the pair themselves knew better. And so, for that matter, did a smirking Hilda. 

"I'll just go in and see what Papi's up to. God knows where he inks I am. I mean, _thinks_ I am."

Betty could've killed her not-so-softly.

Daniel, eyes locked effortlessly on Betty rather than on Hilda's retreating string-clad form, lay back in the lawn chair that Suarez Sibling the Elder had vacated.

"So, an interesting thing happened today while at the spa with my mother," Daniel said. His tone was casual, which immediately put Betty on Sarcastic!Daniel alert. He was about to drop a bomb, she could feel it.

"I was sitting in the lobby, reading my _Maxim_ and minding my own business, when she comes walking through stark naked. Apparently, she saw a rat swimming in her rose-petal bath, but she's claimed to have an ongoing affair with Elvis when she's drunk, so you never know. And anyway, that's not the surprising part." 

Betty wasn't surprised at Claire's antics either, so she wondered what his point was.

Daniel continued, "Before my retinas were consumed in flames, I noticed that on her shoulder was a tattoo that reads "Bradford 4-eva." And, here's the kicker, she told me to ask you about _yours_." 

Betty shifted uncomfortably. So he _had_ seen it, the beautiful, sneaky bastard. 

Daniel reached over, lightning fast, and pulled her gently but firmly forward, exposing her inked shoulder.

"I was drunk." Her eyes met his defiantly. This statement was her only defense, and she knew good and well that it sucked. But it was all she had.

"I don't care," Daniel said flatly, in that frank way of his that cut like a knife and made Julianne Betty out of her heart. She often wondered if he realized he was that capable of hurting her, like on the night of _Wicked_. He'd called her "stupid" in that alley, to her face, point-blank range, and she'd never in a million years let him know the resulting force of her sobs in the shower.

Not relinquishing his hold, Daniel persisted. "So, you were shit-faced. We've all been there, Betty. Why didn't you get Henry's name?" 

This was the crux of the issue, and, God, there she was, that face a whisper away from his, and it was all he could do to exercise self-control for once in his deviant life and not kiss her then and there, tell her that they didn't have to do this infernal Sexual Tension Limbo under the pole called Henry Grubstick, could tell the tool to piss off to Tucson and set Betty free, set _Daniel_ free, what he'd been itching to do for months.

But he knew the stubborn set of her chin that made him want to carry her to the nearest bed and chase that luscious little body from one end of the mattress to the other; her response didn't shock him. 

"What part of 'I was mightily blitzed' do you not understand? I was probably just thinking about work, blurted your name out to the artist, and passed out in the chair."

But Daniel had stopped listening to her broken-record excuse. He was busy tracing his name with a forefinger. 

"Did it hurt?" 

Betty swallowed hard, and cringed at the audibility of the sound. "It stung for a while."

_Tell me about it…_

"Most things worth having do, you know. Sting." He wasn't talking about the tattoo now. "Has Henry seen it?" 

"Yes."

_Hehehehe…_

"How did he take it?"

"He didn't really care because I was DRUNK." Well, that wasn't totally true. Henry had just grown eerily silent and turned away. Turning back around, Betty saw that he had pasted on a fake smile and suggested they make ice cream. "Bananas for Betty." They hadn't been so bananas for each other ever since.

Reading everything in her eyes, Daniel grinned at her then, a breathtaking and wholly unnerving sight. "Fair enough."

This conversation wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Without warning, Daniel changed the subject; that was the way of it with El Meade, she supposed. You'd better get used to a permanent state of whiplash.

"Let's go get one of those repulsive mango margaritas you like so much," he declared, standing and holding out both hands to her. She took them, relived that he seemed to have dropped the subject for now. He mock-labored in pulling her to her feet. She was about to make a mental note to muss his hair for that later, when her body bumped into his from the force of his pull.

His arms encircled her. Flustered, Betty tried to focus on straightening his tie. He grabbed both her hands and forced her to focus on him. He opened his mouth to speak, when she interrupted.

"So, um, where do you want to go? To buy me many delicious mango margaritas?" 

Daniel raised his eyes up to the heavens, the way he always did when he was pretending to think about this month's spread but really just wanting to get laid. His lips quirked mischievously. 

"Well, I heard about this place called the "Bear Hole," where really beautiful women take their tops off."

Betty mussed his hair good then, hair that had probably taken him three hours and five bottles of gel to perfect, if his yells of protest were any indication.

_Oh, yeah. __**So**__ not over…_

**A/N: Well, folks, actually this will have to be it for this one. I wanted to leave it ambiguous and not have them jump each other's bones and ride off into the sunset. Did those two crazy kids ever work it out? Hells, yeah. You KNOW IT. That being said, you are all so amazing and so patient, but might I implore you for reviews one last time? "Thank you" does not even begin to cover it… :D**


End file.
